The Good Twin(37)

I shook my head. How ridiculous it seemed to spend a fortune on a professional-quality kitchen and never use it. “Dinner’s ready. You hungry?”

“Famished,” Ben answered.

I’d already set the table. I brought a salad out first, mesclun lettuce with chickpeas and dried cranberries, and my own balsamic vinaigrette dressing. I picked up the bottle of cabernet on the table. “Wine?”

Ben nodded, and I filled his wineglass, then poured mine.

Ben held up his glass. “A toast. To our future wealth.” I thought it was pretty crass but clicked his glass, anyway. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do when we split?” he asked.

“I always thought if I had money, I’d study painting in Paris. There’s a school there, the Paris College of Art, where I could get a US-accredited BA.”

“Sounds like a good plan. You should apply. Soon you’ll have enough money to do anything you want.” He took a few bites of the salad. “This is delicious.”

“Wait till you taste the main meal.”

When we finished our salads, I brought the coq au vin out to the table, along with a bowl of fettuccine and a loaf of warm French bread. Ben helped himself, and after eating several spoonfuls, said, “I can’t believe you made this yourself. You should be a chef.”

“I’ve always enjoyed cooking, but it’s a hobby. Painting’s my passion.”

We chatted easily throughout dinner, finishing the bottle of wine just before I brought out dessert—tiramisu.

When we finished, Ben sat back in his chair and, with a wicked smile on his face, said, “I think I’m going to like being married to this twin.”



Today would be the real test. I was going into the gallery. It would be Charly’s first time since her father had died. Sandy had worked closely with Charly, and if I could fool her, I could fool anyone. I’d been briefed on her—what she did at the gallery as well as her personal life. She always arrived early and opened up the store. Later, Phil Jacoby would arrive. He was the gallery’s art handler and worked only part-time, unless a show was getting ready to open. I wasn’t worried about him figuring out the truth.

I dressed in Charly’s clothes, which fit me perfectly, and got there just before 10:00 a.m. As soon as I entered, Sandy came up to me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “How are you doing? You know, you could have stayed out longer. I can run things here.”

I gave her a quick hug back and thanked her. She looked me over. “You look better already. Less gaunt.”

“It was stressful,” I said, a catch in my voice, “leading up to the end. Now that it’s over, it’s almost a relief. He was suffering so much.” I managed to squeeze a few tears from my eyes.

“I took the long weekend to just veg out. I laid in bed for three days and watched old movies. TCM had a marathon of Hugh Grant movies. I saw every one.”

“Well, you deserved that rest.”

It was clear that Sandy had no reservations about me. I was Charly Gordon.





CHAPTER 27

Ben felt like a six-ton elephant had been plunked down on his chest for months and now had finally lumbered away. He could breathe again. The finish line was in sight, and he was sprinting toward it.

It had been disconcerting yesterday to watch Mallory get out of the taxi and walk up the steps to his townhouse. He’d known identical twins who had subtle differences, especially once they became adults, that enabled people to tell them apart, but Mallory truly was an exact replica of her sister.

As he walked past Rick’s corner office this morning, he stopped in his tracks. Sitting behind Rick’s desk was Ted Manning. Someone from their maintenance staff had removed Rick’s wall hangings and was in the middle of replacing them with ones that had been in Manning’s office.

Ben stopped in the doorway. “What the hell?”

Manning looked up from the computer. “I’m sorry. This is probably disturbing to you. I waited until after the funeral, but we have to move on now.”

“Don’t you think you should have talked it over with me first? I might have had different plans for this space.”

“With all due respect, Ben, you’re not an owner of the firm. Your wife is. And she understands and is agreeable to me taking over the running of it.”

“With all due respect, Ted,” he practically spit out his name, “Charly is in no position now to be making those decisions. She’s still grieving.”

“The market doesn’t stop because she’s in mourning. And right now, she’s the one who owns this firm. And I’m the only one with the expertise to keep it going. So, you’re just going to have to deal with me running it. Unless, of course, you’d like to take your talents somewhere else.”

“Fuck off, Ted. This isn’t finished.”

Ben fumed as he finished the walk to his office. That corner space belonged to him, not Manning. He snapped at his assistant to bring him coffee, then tried to calm himself. Manning was right. Ben didn’t know enough to run the business. He needed to keep Manning happy. The corner office wasn’t that important. In a few weeks, Ben would make it clear who the boss was. Let Manning think he’s in control for now, he thought. Mallory will soon set him straight.